Perception Breakdown
by Draykon Vokelda
Summary: For now let's call this a Smash Bros. Fanfic shall we? But I assure you there's far more to this than some silly little fighting trophies. OCriffic, to the point that I'm not sure any officials will be making an appearance. You've been warned.


If you're wondering what this is, then so am I.

* * *

If something doesn't exist, then it doesn't exist, right? That seems like common sense, but I'm not really sure anymore. I've gone a long time in a place that defies that explanation.

Maybe it's not existence that's important, but the idea of existence. If something 'could' exist, then I guess it 'does' exist. Somewhere anyway. Here at least, everything that 'can' exist it seems, 'does.'

Plants and animals of all fauna, magic and alchemy of conflicting branches, things that should by their very nature cancel each other out exist simultaneously.

Here, on this peculiarly checkered mountaintop, with my fur a crimson hue that seems almost a sin...

If I looked hard enough...

I could see...

Everything.

* * *

"The purpose of this gathering is a tournament."

The booming voice came, echoing that which I had already confirmed some time before. Senseless combat seemed at time all these folk would ever do. Of course, it became clear after some observation that far more common was the absurd quantity of sex.

Honestly I prefer the former. This world is almost perfect for it. If one intends to exist as a soulless entity like us here, then they may as well take advantage of a form of entertainment in which a soul would be an obstacle.

But at the time I knew nothing of this nature, so I suppose I should avoid the subject for now.

My name, back in that nonsensical dream where it mattered, was Scar. Or perhaps, that is the name I choose to remember it as. Truthfully, there are other names I can recall, many of which are perhaps far more likely. But they are names I reject, and I wish not to say them. Rather as far as I shall choose to believe, I was Scar. My body was perhaps one familiar to you, a somewhat small anthropomorphic animal, the key difference being my crimson fur. I need not go into further detail, the character I resemble is certainly within your mind.

If not, then perhaps another of the names I recall may jar your memory. I say with sacrifice, this body certainly was 'Redsonic.'

With everything this name entails, I certainly was armed. In each hand a sword, one of western origin, one of eastern. The western sword was held in my right hand, to be used offensively. The eastern sword was offhand, defensively, reverse-style. Of course I also held a 'power' at my disposal, something which is hopefully obvious by this point.

But in case it was not, I was in fact a pyromancer.

With the ringing bells, the tournament preliminaries were to began. I took my place in a small room, my opponent standing across from me.

The warriors in this realm cannot always be judged by their appearances. But still, we were always guided to take note of them. My opponent was a young man- or perhaps a teenager. He was garbed in green, and wielded a sword and shield. I know at this point what you believe- and yes he was a blond man, and his clothes could easily be described as a 'tunic-' but I assure you this man was not who you are thinking. One thing was missing- a hat. I knew not the significance of this detail at the time, but I did know that it was present.

So I did not fear my opponent.

I drew my swords, and he drew his.

The first clash began, and with a scarlet streak, the first blow was mine- though it was to his shield. Though the man was slow, he was strong, and from our position, he easily forced me to the ground. It was nothing to me however, to recover from this fall into a somersault, and the clash concluded.

With the second clash, the man drew a bow and took aim, the arrow surging with a golden light. It was effortless however, for me to evade as he shot. Even as he fire repeatedly, I ducked and dodged past the golden bursts. Between the shots, I suddenly rushed towards my enemy, and struck at him with my western sword. He thrust his shield forward however, and knocked my weapon from me. As I moved to counter with the second one, he struck it with his own sword, and sent it away from the class as well. His sword sliced through my gut once, before I retreated. This was the second clash.

The third class was introduced, as I began to circled the man. My speed is of course my strong point, and with the rotation I was able to grab both my weapons though. Then with my magic, the flow of heat began to mimic that of the circle I drew. After three rotations, the air ignited, and I sped to my maximum speed

By the end of the third clash, the room was filled with a great tornado of flame, and my opponent was forced to resign.

In truth, I know not the significance of these clashes, or why the battle was fought in three iterations. But somehow it is written upon the fragments of time that this was how it occurred, and so it is how I write it now.

* * *

To vanquish a foe in this world is meaningless, and yet somehow I celebrated. Perhaps that pleasure of killing was all I knew. Perhaps because I can no longer feel that pleasure, is why the world has descended into darkness.

Could senseless killing... bring back this dead world?


End file.
